


Glitches

by RedEyedRyu



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, CYOA, Character Death, Choose Wisely, Kinda, Reader Is Not Frisk, You play an active part in shaping the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6507727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEyedRyu/pseuds/RedEyedRyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're no stranger to Mt. Ebott, having grown up in the small town located at its base. Throughout your childhood you had spent countless summers camping in the forest surrounding the mountain and as an adult, you make it a point to hike the familiar trails regularly whenever you are able. It is during one such routine hike that things take a... <i>strange</i> turn and you find yourself stranded in a part of the mountain you are <i>very</i> unfamiliar with.</p><p>Who ever thought there would be truth to those old legends? And what is with all those weird, blocky glitches you keep seeing everywhere?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>This is a story where you, dear readers, get to play an active part in shaping the story. At the end of each chapter you will be given a choice. Will you ACT and show MERCY on your path to solving this puzzle as you try to find a way home, or will you FIGHT and cut down those that stand before you? It's up to you to decide.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01000001

**Author's Note:**

> This is something of an experiment that I've been wanting to mess around with for a while now. Similar to a CYOA but not quite, as it won't require me writing dozens upon dozens of chapters and coming up with multiple routes for readers to shift through. Instead, at the end of each chapter you will be presented with a choice between two (or more) options. There will be a set time for voting between chapters and at the end of the allotted time, I will write for the choice with the most votes. I am not including any pairings off the bat because that is something that can very well be influenced by you, if you so choose.
> 
> I am hoping for this to be a story we can all write together. ( ᐛ )و 

You’re screaming, arms flailing and pinwheeling, desperately attempting to grasp at something-- _anything_ \--to stop this terrifying free fall but there’s nothing. Just the muddled grey of your surroundings as they whip passed, the unnatural chill in the air for a blistering July day, and the sound of your own blood curdling screeches echoing around you.

This is weird. And alarming, obviously, if the constriction in your chest and your screaming is any indicator.

You have no idea what is going on, what lead you to this scenario that you have had nightmares about more times than you ever cared to count. How had your routine hike up the mountain turned into this? What had you done wrong? One second your booted feet had been planted on solid earth and then the next, you’re here, falling to most certain death. What a way to go. You really hope the impact will kill you. It would really suck to wind up with something broken but not bad enough that you don’t die instantaneously or from shock. Starving to death while wallowing in pain is most certainly _not_ on your “ways I would be okay with dying” list (not that you actually have something like that or anything).

Your throat is scratchy and raw and you’re out of breath, your scream dying down as your lungs empty. You’re… you’re still falling. Just how far down is this hole? Are you falling to the center of the Earth itself (but then, why does it feel like it’s getting _colder_ )? Is Mt. Ebott hollow or something? What the heck is going on?? Your wailing ceases and you take in a greedy breath of air. You spare a glance to the air whipping by around you; it’s dark, but not enough that you can’t distinguish the vague, blurred silhouettes of multiple straight _somethings_ (trees? stalactites? hallucinations?) whizzing passed. Why does it look like they’re coated in something white? Is that…?

And before you can finish the curious thought _fwumph_ ! Your lungs are once more emptied, though this time forcefully as your body impacts with something soft and powdery and _cold_. Are you-? is this really-? ...did you just-?

You don’t move, though you are gasping for breath, and as you look straight ahead, you note you are buried several inches deep in… snow? What? But that’s weird and impossible because it’s _July_ \--it’s the **peak** of _summer_ for crying out loud! There is just absolutely _no way_ for you to be sunken at least a foot deep in a pile of snow! And hadn’t you just fallen through the ground or something? What the hell is going on??

You lay there, finally having managed to recapture your breath (though the softened impact of powdery snow definitely helped to speed that along), as you focus on the prickling sensation of the snow’s chill nipping at the exposed skin on your legs and arms, on your neck and even a little under your shirt, along the small of your back just below the bottom of your pack, where your shirt had ruffled upwards upon impact. You should probably get up, you think, before you lose complete feeling in your extremities or suffer frostbite or whatever but… what? What just… happened? Where are you? Is this still Mt. Ebott? And most importantly: did you break anything? A quick wiggle to each of your limbs, fingers, and toes tells you that no, nothing _feels_ broken. You heave a sigh of relief; that’s one less thing to worry about.

You sit there for a good few minutes more as the snow encasing you melts with the exposure to your warmer body, an uncomfortable, biting wetness bleeding into the fabric of your clothing.

_I should really get up.._ you think once more, though still not making a move to follow through with the thought. You know you should really, _really_ get up like… right now, what with the out of season snow melting and soaking into you (and god is it such an uncomfortable, gross feeling) but you’re still struggling to piece everything together--to rationalize the situation. The longer you stew on it, however, the less sense it makes and the greater that bud of anxiety burns and swells in your chest, wanting to spread like wildfire into your lungs, your heart, and your mind.

You think back to your trek up the mountain, to the winding, craggy ground surrounded in trees and rocks and all kinds of brush. To the sloping earth as the mountain tore its way skyward and the burning summer’s heat that had beat down against your back as you climbed. You scrunch your eyes closed, the skin creasing and folding all along the center of your face as you fight hard to recall just what the hell had happened. You had been following the same trail up the mountainside you always did--the path you had practically worn into it all on your own after years of continual, repetitive use.

You were no stranger to Mt. Ebott, having grown up in the shadow of the mountain in the town at its base. You had taken frequent, almost yearly camping trips to the surrounding forest since you were a child; you had hiked this trail countless times--both on your own and in the company of friends and family. You had made it a point to visit the mountain at least every other weekend during the warmer months, to lose yourself in nature… So how had this happened? How had you screwed up so bad as to throw yourself down a pit you _should have known_ about? Should have seen coming from a _mile_ away?

You clench your teeth and somehow manage to deepen your scowling expression.

_But that’s the thing_ , you say to yourself, perturbed, _there was no hole._ No abruptly appearing sinkhole, no deviously hidden pit in the ground camouflaged by foliage. You just… one second you had been standing on solid ground and the next, you’re catching a strange movement at your feet out of the very edges of your vision. When you had cast your gaze down, you had caught the very vestiges of what had looked eerily similar to glitches--blocky distortions of color and static-y grey-white noise that blurred the ground beneath your feet, turning it an inky black in places. And then, you had simply fallen, your stomach pitching into your throat as you began your free fall.

“A goddamn glitch in the Matrix,” you say aloud, tone sour as you let loose a dry, cracked laugh and bring an uncomfortably cold arm to lay over your eyes. You immediately regret the action, however, as snow had clung to the appendage and thus winds up smooshed up against your eyelids. You jolt, arm dragging along your face in a pitiful attempt at removing the offending snow (which is quickly melting into tiny, clingy little beads of wetness). “Fucking _perfect_.” you grumble, deciding you might as well pull yourself out of your snowy, would-be grave now that you have finally mustered the energy to move. You peel your arm from your face, letting it flop back into the snow like a dead weight and soft, icy powder fluffs and poofs around you at the motion.

As you clench the muscles in your abdomen in preparation to pull yourself up, you hear something, and your muscles tense for another reason entirely. You strain your ears, focusing in on the sound as you subconsciously hold your breath.

_Crunch._ _Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

The sound repeats in a steady rhythm. It sounds like… footsteps?

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

Definitely footsteps--the footfalls heavy against the snow. Are they walking on two feet, or four?

_Crunch, crunch._

Two, you think, the spacing between footfalls sounds like whoever that is is walking on two feet. And it’s getting closer, you realize, your heart rate beginning to pick up. You’re torn between relief and fear. Relief because this means you’re not alone, that it’s probably not an animal stalking up to make a meal out of you, and that another person means help but fearful because you’re not sure what to expect. Certainly not after your inexplicable introduction to this strange place. This place… under the mountain? _Inside_ the mountain? But that can’t be right, you think, there’s snow, and from your hole in the ground, you can most definitely say that yes, those were trees you had seen whizzing by. And yet, when you cast your gaze skyward there is no sky to be met, just an inky darkness that eats away at the treetops in an indiscernible and oddly crushing, claustrophobic black haze. It is certainly unlike any sky you have ever seen before and doesn’t quell the odd thought in the back of your mind that you might really be underground. Somehow.

_Crunch._

The footsteps pause suddenly, that steady rhythm interrupted, and it tears you away from your absent minded musing, causing you to refocus your attention on their owner. _Maybe they’ve spotted me?_ you think, suddenly scared to move, to breath, to even blink.

_Crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch!_

The footsteps pick back up, quick and urgent now, as whoever is making them races in your direction.

Oh no. Oh crap. Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, _shit_!

 

* * *

 

What do you do?

> *** You stay put, despite the alarm bells ringing in your head.**
> 
> *** You  bolt, scrambling from your snowy hole in the ground.**


	2. 01001110

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe you should have ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please note updated tags before proceeding.**

> *** You stay put, despite the alarm bells ringing in your head.**

It’s an internal battle. Fight or flight? Though, in this case you find yourself thinking it would be less “fight” and more… lying idle? Against your better judgment and your instincts _screaming_ at you to move, to _get the hell out of here_ , you stay put. Maybe the footsteps you picked up were reacting to something else and you’re just overthinking it? Maybe the owner of those footfalls hadn’t seen your little hole in the ground, hadn’t heard the pounding of your heart?

There’s an uncomfortable pressure building in your chest, a burning tightness, and now that you have become aware of it, you realize you’ve been holding your breath ever since that paused step. You exhale slowly, worried that even the slight sound of such a simple action will draw unwanted attention to yourself (assuming you didn’t already have said attention) and inhale just as slowly, noting that despite wanting to cease any and all possible cause for noise, you still need to breathe.

_1… 2… 3… 4…_ you count in an effort to calm your frazzled nerves. You can still hear those quickened footfalls drawing ever nearer and the pounding of your heart in your chest isn’t slowing down despite your best efforts. _1… 2… 3… 4…_ you repeat, snapping your eyes closed, hating that you can feel a wetness building beneath your eyelids that can’t be blamed on melted snow. _1… 2… 3… 4…_ The footsteps have stopped, though you can’t seem to pinpoint exactly when or where. There’s an odd warmth radiating at your right and through the lids of your still shut eyes you think you can make out an equally warm light. You crack a hesitant eye open, curious as to what could be the source of such warmth in this strange snowscape, and are met with a strange sight.

It’s a man, you think, your eyes opening wide. He’s peering at you over the edge of your little hole in the snow. What’s strange is that he appears to be made entirely of brilliant, red-orange fire. He’s wearing a collared white dress shirt, a black bow-tie and vest, black sleeve garters and black, rectangular framed glasses sit on his face, right where they’d be on a human face. He’s looking down at you and despite not having any kind of defining features you have the strangest feeling that he’s looking at you with remorse--that there’s something he wants to say and either can’t bring himself to voice or completely lacks the ability to do so.

You furrow your brows at the sight, lips pursing as questions form upon your lips. You want to ask him why he’s looking at you like that, want to ask what he is and where you are and what the heck is going on. You want to ask him why it’s suddenly so warm despite being surrounded by snow, want to ask how he keeps his clothes from burning up and why the snow isn’t melting around him but the look, the _feel_ , he radiates has your words dying in your throat. You stare at one another for a minute.

Two.

Three.

The silence that settles between the two of you is deafening; uncomfortable and suffocating all at once. He’s still giving you that contrite expression, you note, and you wonder why. You need to ask him, need to break the silence and the awkward tension rising. Your lips twitch at the question bubbling forward but before you can say anything you feel an uncomfortable ache, a foreign pressure and pull building at the center of your chest. That radiating warmth at your side is growing, you vaguely realize, and suddenly, before you can even really process what exactly is happening, you’re feeling like _you_ are the one made of fire--that you are _on_ fire.

And that’s when it clicks.

It is no longer just warm despite the snow, it’s _scalding_. _Blistering_. You are **_burning_** , flames licking at every inch of your flesh, searing and bubbling into you down to your very core, to your very _soul_. You are writhing in pain and you’re vaguely aware of the fact that you are screaming.

Just as you wish for the torture to end, for everything to just _stop_ \--to stop existing so you can escape the pain--you feel a strange lurch, the sensation once more rooted in your chest, before a peculiar numbness begins to encompass your fingers and toes, the flesh of your arms and legs. It’s slowly creeping along the entirety of your body, replacing the unbearable, mind-numbing pain of being burned alive and you find yourself relishing in the merciful disconnect from your senses.

God, that had hurt. That had hurt _so much_ , had been _so painful_.

There are tears pouring from your eyes and you’re trying to calm your breathing--the last thing you need right now is to start hyperventilating. Despite no longer feeling anything, the mere memory of such excruciating pain is enough to tear a shuddering sob from your lips. You might be numb to everything right now, but just the thought of experiencing agony like that again has you on edge. You never want to feel anything like that ever. again.

You bring a hand to your mouth and clamp down on the second knuckle of your index finger, relieved when the only sensation you’re met with is the pressure of your teeth clenching on the flesh and bone. You will yourself to calm down. You’re supposed to be working yourself _down_ , not up into an even bigger, blubbering mess.

You inhale and begin to count, teeth still clenched on the flesh and bone of your finger.

_1… 2… 3… 4…_

Exhale.

 

It takes a few moments, but eventually you are able to calm yourself, to steady your breathing and convince yourself that no, you’re not on fire, not burning alive. You’re fine, you tell yourself, dropping your hand from your mouth. You’re alive and you’re okay and _what the hell_ ?! What _was that_ ? Are you dead? Did you _die_?!

You open your eyes, not knowing when you had even closed them (was it when the pain had started, or after? Some point in between?), and take in your surroundings.

The snow and trees and the man made of fire are all gone. Instead, you find you’re surrounded by a heavy, oppressive, _hungry_ darkness. It’s an inky, silent abyss that is blacker than pitch, more unsettling and suffocating than even the darkest of caves you have ever gone spelunking in. And yet, despite the stygian blackness, you’re somehow able to see yourself perfectly. Shifting your head down, you can discern your torso and each limb that extends from it; you can see all those pesky, flyaway hairs falling into your face; you can see the pattern and texture of your shirt and the straps of your backpack. How odd, you think as you bring a hand up to absently fiddle with the unfastened straps of your pack, that you can be lying so comfortably on your back despite the very full pack sandwiched beneath you. You let your head fall, relaxing and lying it back down on ground that isn’t there.

Maybe you really _did_ die? Is this the afterlife? Limbo?

The hand fiddling with the strap stops and falls to your side as you let that thought sink in.

There’s no way you could be dead, right? No way any of that could have been real. People didn’t just fall through the ground, didn’t fall through _solid earth_ into a wintery world beneath a mountain. Surely you were--are--dreaming, nestled perfectly safe and sound in your soft bed back home. Maybe you had kicked your blankets off in your sleep and left the AC blasting throughout the night and that was why you had _thought_ you felt the biting chill of snow and this strange numbness, this oppressive darkness, is an indicator that you are waking up, that the dream is fading.

_But then, how do you explain the pain and suffering you experienced of being burned alive?_

You shake the treacherous thought from your mind, wondering why your inner voice is trying to fight you on this. Wouldn’t it be better to just accept that everything had been a dream? It’s also the only explanation that makes any sense. Come on, a man _made of fire_ , _dressed to the nines_ ? No _way_ was any of that a feasible part of reality.

And yet...  
There are those old legends about Mt. Ebott...

“ _Those who climb the mountain never return._ ” the legends would always say.

You scrunch your brows and squint your eyes at the inky void that encompasses you, lips drawn in a frown as you sift through your memory. You pull up anything you can recall about those old legends and end up focusing on the one you had heard most often throughout your childhood; it wasn’t a particularly happy one.

It was a tale that spoke of a child who had made their way up the cursed mountain and who had then stumbled down a hole into the depths of the Earth. The story went on to say that the fallen child had quickly been beset by the vile monsters that called the mountain home and to set an example--to tell humans they weren’t welcome among monster kind and to _stay away_ \--their King had carried the child’s cold, lifeless body down the mountainside to the nearest village. Once there, the King displayed the child’s body to the quivering, frightened villagers with the threat that should anyone repeat the child’s folly they, too, would meet the same fate; that there would be no mercy. With the ominous warning delivered, the monster King then returned to the mountain, taking with him the remains of the child, refusing to let the villagers give them a proper burial--to set the poor soul to rest.

But it was just an old legend, probably hundreds of years old, and no one really put much stock into it. After all, people climbed and traversed Mt. Ebott and its surrounding forest all the time without incident. It was just a cautionary tale aimed at children, warning them not to climb the mountain alone or at night or whatever. ...right?

Monsters were nothing more than a fabrication. They were merely something people in the past created to scare children and would-be thieves and ill-natured folk from wrongdoing and trespassing; they weren’t real, didn’t live in a mountain and most definitely didn’t wear bow-ties and glasses. ...right?

Right.

This has all just been some long, drawn-out, incredibly lucid dream. And as nice as it has (not) been, you should probably wake up from it. You’ve probably slept in by now, probably missed your alarm and regularly scheduled 9 o'clock weekend morning caffeine fix at your favorite café. You think you’ll skip today’s hike up the mountain; it can wait until next weekend--hopefully you’ll have forgotten this crazy dream by then.

“Whelp,” you start as you pull yourself into a seated position, “can’t lay around playin’ dead anymore. Got places to be, people to see.” You pull yourself up and out of habit, dust off your thighs, knees, and butt. “It’s time to wake up.” you tell yourself with a little nod of your head, resolute as you stand tall. You’re not going to let this dream beat you down. You’ve got this! Everything’s good--cool, even! You’re gonna wake up and everything is going to be exactly as it should be--no men made of fire, no snow and trees growing underground, no bedtime stories forcing themselves upon your reality.

A flash of light suddenly catches your eye, your attention immediately drawn towards it.

Huh. Those weird, blocky distortions in space are back. There are two large clusters of them standing stark against the endless void surrounding you; the blocks of white-grey static fuzz are rotating, shifting and undulating in a vertical, oblong-ish kind of shape. They look to form something of a vague doorway, you think. Literal doors out of here.

You give each outlet a cursory glance. They stand about five feet apart and despite the fluctuating whites and greys of the blocks of static noise, you are able to make out the slightest hint of color in each glitchy cluster.

 

* * *

 Through which do you make your escape?

> *** You take the door with the faint red glow on your left.**
> 
> *** You take the door with the faint orange glow on your right.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ⚆ _ ⚆ )
> 
> Oh dear. It appears you have gone and gotten yourself killed, dear readers. Shall I start a death counter from here on out? I think, perhaps, I shall.
> 
> Alright guys, that aside, I'm going to say this now: the possibility of getting yourself killed will be a constant from here on out, so bear that in mind as you make any future decisions. To clear any confusion, Reader's choice is decided upon by majority vote. To vote on which option Reader chooses, simply post a comment below designating which one you want Reader to act upon. Votes will be tallied at the end of a designated voting period, after which I will begin work on the next chapter. The current voting period will last until **12 May** \--one week from now!
> 
> If you have any additional questions or are confused about anything, feel free to contact me via tumblr @ redeyedryu.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Decisions... decisions... Whatever shall you do?
> 
> _If you would like to get sneak peaks and see works in progress (of this story and my others), you can find me on tumblr at: redeyedryu.tumblr.com_  
> 


End file.
